


More Than Chance

by DustToDust



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Galra Keith (Voltron), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: Unconnected Sheith drabbles.





	1. Cold

The pods can only heal physical injuries and some of the more extreme sicknesses commonly found in the universe. Keith finds that out after a frustratingly vague conversation with Coran that had involved something that sounded suspiciously like chicken pox except weirder. Keith may or may not have nightmares later in the night about weeping sacks of green growths trying to eat him alive because of that conversation.

Later though, for now he’s balancing a bowl of goo –frighteningly vivid in color, but more watery and still steaming from whatever Hunk did to it– and trying not to spill any of it when the door to Shiro’s quarters opens on the man clumsily trying to dress himself. Again.

“Shiro!” Keith carefully sets the bowl down before going over to the bed and pulling Shiro’s hands away from his boots. It doesn’t take much work to pull them off this time. The fastenings of it too complicated for Shiro’s muddled mind to make sense of. “I told you to sleep!”

“Rest,” Shiro corrects him, his voice low with tiredness and he blinks way too much when focusing on Keith. His face is still red, and Keith doesn’t need to touch him to know he’s still burning with fever. “You said to rest, not sleep.”

Anger licks out through Keith’s veins. Resting is not the same as sleeping, not for Shiro these days at least, and Keith is all too aware of that. He hates the Galra more and more with each passing night he makes up some excuse to go to the training deck at night. To find Shiro already in the midst of a training program and taking one minute too long to recognize Keith’s presence beside him.

“Rest then,” Keith tosses the boots aside and pushes on Shiro’s chest lightly to get him to move back further onto the bed. The skin under his fingers it worryingly hot and Keith worries about the hot liquid for a moment. Hunk knows his way around food though, and Keith will have to trust the other man’s knowledge in this. “I’m here now, I’ll keep watch.”

Shiro relaxes visibly in a way that he’d never allow himself to if he were in his right state of mind. Too selfless to let on how much his captivity has changed him to the rest of them. He’ll go out of his way to act like nothing is wrong, even when only Keith is around to see him falter. It’s one of the things he understands best about Shiro even as it annoys the hell out of Keith.

“You should be sleeping,” Shiro stares almost listlessly at the bowl Keith holds out to him. Zero inclination to take the food even as he settles slowly back down on the bed. Faint bits of lucidity surface in the eyes that lock onto Keith even as he struggles to form words. “I don’t want to- You shouldn’t-”

“Shut up,” Keith snaps out without any real anger. He settles down on the edge of the bed and stirs the bowl’s contents. It doesn’t smell all that good but Shiro doesn’t flinch or gag when he spoons the first bit to him. Careful not to spill any of it on him, or give him too much. “Just rest, I’m here now.”

Shiro obeys, though it’s probably just his illness making him so pliable and not insisting Keith stop worrying about him.

“I’m here now,” Keith mutters more for his own sake than Shiro’s as he feeds him as much of the bowl as he can take before Shiro slips into an uneasy and feverish sleep. He keeps his word though, through the sleep cycle, and is there every time Shiro wakes up from fevered nightmares with the one phrase that seems to work better than any healing pod. “Rest, I’m here now.”


	2. Five Stages

Keith waited every day for more news. He checked the news feed constantly in between classes, and then even in classes when waiting became too much. It gave him nothing new at all. The Kerberos mission was simply gone and no one had any idea what had happened.

He grit his teeth and kept searching. Kept an eye on the military, silent as things moved out of the public eye, and waited for more. Waited for the news that the comms system had malfunctioned. That there was something not life threateningly wrong with the ship. That a message had been received, a hint of laughing amusement under the assurances that they were all fine and it wouldn’t happen again.

Keith waited and he watched.

~

_Pilot error._

The walls in the garrison were up to the usual standard of the military. Sturdy enough to stand up to the usual things cadets got up to and almost soundproof enough to block out any noise.

Pilot _error_.

It wasn’t strong enough to stand up to a fist going through it, or the chair that got flung wrathfully across the room. The chair wasn’t sturdy enough either and bits of plastic and metal rained down on the floor.

 _Pilot_ error.

The sound proofing did nothing to drown out Keith’s rage. He’s vaguely aware that the door to his room was open and there were wary eyes on him. That soon enough those eyes would be followed by instructors, but he’s not paying any of that any mind.

Pilot _fucking_ error.

The room was too small. Even though his fists stung, there wasn’t enough there to bank the rage inside of him. Keith almost smiled when he heard the first sharp barking of one of the combat instructors.

~

They held a funeral. A trio of empty caskets in a row. Showered with high honors and paraded about like they were actual people instead of wood and air.

Keith didn’t watch any of it. His bag was packed with clothes and the few things that were his on the bed behind him, and he was packing up the other half of the room that felt far too big now.

His hands faltered over uniforms and civilian clothing in a way they hadn’t when he’d signed his own discharge papers. They all held a familiar scent that threatened to pull the ground out from under Keith’s feet as he put a name to it. A name to the empty side of the room and the empty casket.

Shiro.

Religion and prayer had never been Keith’s thing, but he prayed as he held up a shirt. Prayed to someone, something, anything that might hear him and feel benevolent enough to help him.

Keith was met with only silence though.

~

The hotel room in town had a musty smell to it and two beds that Keith stared at blankly. The TV spat nonsense and the beds blurred as Keith sank to the floor. His knees hitting hard as he scrambled for the extra bag he’d been told to leave behind.

It’s small and no substitute for anything, but Keith clung to it as pain riped through him. Inhaling Shiro’s scent and ignoring the wetness on his face, the way that breathing became absolute agony.

~

The desert stretched out around him, and Keith looked at it clinically from the shack he’d found not far from the Garrison. At first look it was empty and devoid of life, but he knew better than to accept that. He knew there was life all around him, and secrets laying in wait.

Something was out there. Keith knew it in his bones. Knew it with a certainty he had rarely felt before.

It was out there and he had to find it. And when he did-

Keith didn’t let his thoughts wander beyond finding what was drawing him out to the desert. Shiro had led him out here. Thoughts of the other man refused to leave Keith, and it was no coincidence that he ended up here with something to look for. Whatever it was that was hidden had something to do with Shiro.

Keith would find it, and he would find Shiro again.


	3. Catboys

Dirt matted in the soft fur of Keith’s ears and down into his hair. Clumping the strands into stiff little spikes. Shiro could see it from the back of the group as they all trudged back into the Castle. Exhausted and aching, but still a little high from their victory. The Princess already greeted them and it wasn’t until much later that Shiro gets to ask about it.

“There was a plant,” Keith says as the dirt flakes off under Shiro’s fingers. A brown that’s almost rust colored. Keith leans sideways into Shiro, ear flicking down to allow him more access. His still armored shoulder bumps into Shiro’s chest.

“A potted plant on a Galra ship?” Shiro asks and feels like laughing over the absurdity of it. Over the fact that something so mundane could be found on a battle ship, or over the image of a serious soldier watering a delicate looking geranium. He wraps an arm around Keith to adjust him so they’re both comfortable and keeps scratching at the dirt.

The shower room is empty now, and waiting for them both to finish undressing, but there’s something relaxing in just holding Keith now like this. Watching the other man’s tail slowly arc through the air from the corner of his eye and feeling the warmth of his body.

“It had teeth,” Keith says with a snort, and that does not improve the mental image Shiro has.

He laughs a bit, because of course a Galra houseplant would have teeth. Keith looks pleased to have drawn a laugh from him, and Shiro feels the smooth brush of Keith’s tail against his arm.

It’s a while before either of them manage to make it into the showers.


	4. Whump

There isn't a single cell of his body that doesn't hurt. The pain is like a living thing inside of him. Rolling through him and sliding through his veins until Keith feels like he's breathing the pain in and out. His throat was stripped raw long ago. Days? Hours? Keith's stopped being able to perceive time as anything more than the agonizing moments between the oily crawling of the Druids' power coursing through him. Pushing through the pain invasively and searching for something.

By the time Keith realizes they're done with him he's being dragged away by a drone. A single drone. Distantly Keith thinks he should be insulted by the lack of guard, but he's still breathing pain and loses track of where he is. The world doesn't matter, nothing matters until a warm hand touches him.

It's not the cold hands of a drone and Keith drags his eyes open to see a familiar face looking down at him in an unfamiliar way. It takes effort to move his mouth, and his entire face feels strange and unfamiliar but it's important. Absolutely important that he do this. 

"Shh'ro," the name rolls dully off his tongue and Keith grimaces, feeling pain fire through his muscles as he uses them. His throat protesting the sound, but he has to. Keith has to wipe that stony look off of Shiro's face. He concentrates on his right hand, curling his fingers clumsily to give him a thumbs up. A poor one. "S'nt so bad."

"Keith," Shiro breathes out and the stony look is gone. Replaced by something much worse. His warm hands --and when did the metal hand start to feel warm to Keith?-- are everywhere. Soothing and draining the pain away. Making Keith more and more aware of his body once again as something more than just a vessel for pain.

Keith closes his eyes and enjoys it. Lets Shiro ease the pain away as he listens to the steady cadence of words pouring out of his mouth, and then the steady pounding of Shiro's heart when he gathers Keith up in his arms. It's soothing and blissful in a way that's probably pathetic, but Keith will take it. 

It takes a while before Shiro's words begin to register, "God, what did they do to you?"

The gutted feeling in the words makes Keith open his eyes again, and the first thing he sees is a hand clutching at Shiro. Purple and clawed in a way that makes Keith's heart kick up in reflexive panic because the pain is just fading. He's just starting to be able to think! He can't- He won't go back to that torture!

"Keith. Keith! It's ok. Everything is alright. Calm down!" 

Shiro's speaking and his hand reaches out to cover the Galra hand. His words make no sense, but neither does the fact that Keith can feel the hand covering that purple hand. His mind is slow as he follows that hand down. To the arm it connects to, to the body it comes from.

The noise Keith makes is confused and pained, and utterly inhuman before he's crushed back into Shiro's arms once again. His face smashed into the man's neck and his words washing over him.

"It's ok, Keith. Everything is going to be alright. I've got you now. I've got you."

Keith clings to the words and he clings to Shiro even as he doubts that everything is going to be alright.


	5. Routine

Shiro wakes up to the smell of coffee and burning bread. He lays in bed for several more minutes. Eyes closed as he enjoys the lingering warmth of the bed and the quiet sounds Keith makes in their tiny kitchen. Letting the familiarity of this morning routine soothe the lingering anxiety from the dreams Shiro can’t remember entirely. Just snatches of some weird mix of not being able to get out of the Castle of Lions and showing up to lessons at the Garrison with no pants on.

He grins in amusement over it as he finally cracks his eyes open to roll out of bed. His stomach insisting he not lay about anymore. The hardwood floor is cold under his bare feet after the warmth of the bed and Shiro shudders as it pulls him fully awake. He scoops a loose shirt out of a drawer on his way out and pulls it on even as he automatically heads to the kitchen. Not needing to see to know how many steps he needs to take.

“Morning,” Shiro says and is greeted with two very welcome sights. A cup of coffee and a shirtless Keith eating burnt toast. Shiro takes the mug and leans down to press a kiss into Keith’s still sleep mussed hair before sitting down.

“Morning,” Keith responds by rote. He transfers the toast to his left hand and tangles his fingers together with Shiro’s. Letting their arms rest on the table between them. Sleep still clings stubbornly to Keith’s eyes, and Shiro grins when nothing more coherent comes out of Keith. It will be another hour or so before Keith’s able to talk coherently.

For the moment, Shiro enjoys his coffee and the warmth of their hands on the table. Watching their fingers move to tangle even further together and tracing the lines on Keith’s skin. The sharp definition of muscles, and the fading slashes of scars from battles long over. It’s soothing and familiar, but Shiro never fails to feel incredibly grateful that they can both have this.


	6. Spar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheithweek- Day 3 (24) Fight me/Love me

Shiro doesn't ask questions when Keith pulls him into the training deck instead of resting like he should be doing. Like they both should be doing. The ship won't go any faster than it already is and they've still got time to burn before they can rescue the princess. Resting is the only thing they should be doing, but Shiro doesn't say a word.

There's no rest in the rigid lines of Keith's back. Not in the almost violently restrained energy he's been radiating since the failure of their mission. Rest for him right now is impossible, and Shiro'd be lying if he didn't admit he's every bit as wound up as Keith.

Failure is bitter and familiar to Shiro, and there's relief from it when Keith spins around into a kick. The impact against his arm, his _right_ arm. Bruises and strained muscles protest the movement but Shiro ignores it and immediately flies to an offense.

They don't speak and they don't hold back. Trading punches and kicks, angling around in a dance choreographed to grunts and heavy breathing. It's familiar and welcoming in a way little else can be in this moment. Shiro can't count the number of times they used to do this in the Garrison. When the evaluations became harsh or the other cadets too critical. The gym was always open for use, even after lights out, and they'd taken full advantage of it. Though the first time they'd gone there, Shiro had been rather put out that his rather attractive bunkmate had meant sparring in the most literal sense.

Shiro's sweating when he feels the way his lips want to curve up in a slight smile at the memory. The tension in Keith's body is lessened as well so he lets the next sweeping kick take his feet out from under him. Falling to the floor to lie still is almost as much of a relief as the breif spar had been. Shiro drags in a deep breath of air and focuses on the pounding of his heart until a solid weight settles over him.

Keith's knees push his arms out from his chest, his shins tucking up against Shiro as he looks down with tired eyes. "I almost lost you."

 _Again_ floats unsaid between them. Shiro reaches up, with his _left_ arm, and pulls Keith down until they're pressed together. Shiro's forehead touching Keith's, and too close to make out the haunted expression on his face any longer. Keith's eyes and hands have been filled with the ghost of past events too much lately.

"We lost the Princess," Shiro responds because it's the truth and because acknowledging that sentiment will do Keith no good. Not now, not ever. Impulsive as he is, Keith will linger over the could-have-beens for too long if allowed to, but Shiro can't force himself to give the man platitudes they both know could easily prove to be false.

Keith sighs and it gusts over Shiro's skin, warm and comforting as the words he states with solid conviction, "We'll get her back."

They will. Shiro is confident of that, and the acknowledgment eases out more of the tension he's been carrying. It's enough for them to both get the rest they need, but Shiro doesn't move them along. Taking the moment instead to enjoy this one quiet moment.


End file.
